


shoulder surfing

by Emlee_J



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Pro Volleyball Player Hinata Shouyou, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26391406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emlee_J/pseuds/Emlee_J
Summary: It appears the set has ended – though there’s no scoreboard so who knows who’s keeping track – and Hinata turns to his beach volleyball partner, removing his sunglasses with one smooth movement and- oh dear.Tobio might need to go and lay down on that smooth rock a few feet away to try and calm down.Because Hinata is smiling – bright and wide and infuriatingly perfect – and Tobio had kind of forgotten what it was like to be burnt by sunbeams.Hinata Shouyou stands there, on the beach, with a cap that his new, shorter hair pokes out the sides of in tufts, with fitted shorts and a beautiful smile and-Arms.Nice arms.Verynice arms.-In which Kageyama sneaks onto the beach in Brazil to watch Hinata play, and becomes just a little, just ateensy bitobsessed with his new shoulders.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 95
Kudos: 885





	shoulder surfing

**Author's Note:**

> happy kagehina day!!
> 
> also this is without a doubt the most stupid thing i have ever written, i am so sorry

As far as Tobio was considered, this was a perfect plan.

Okay, sure, Japan hadn’t won any medals at the Olympics. They hadn’t even made it to the quarter finals – Argentina had made sure of that in three swift sets – and it all kind of sucked, frankly.

But every cloud had a… had a thing. A silver thing. Pining? Did clouds pine? Maybe it was pine cones? Well, whatever. Something to do with clouds, Tobio doesn’t really know anymore and can’t be bothered to care.

The fact was that even though Japan had lost, the whole team was still obligated to stay until the closing ceremony. They might have been able to leave, had it been any other tournament, but there was the small, niggling detail that Japan were the next hosts for the Games and it was only considered polite to hang about until the last gasp. Something to do with the fire thing, Tobio thinks.

At first, Tobio had spent much of his newfound free time alternating between sulking and coming up with inventive new ways to ask his teammates to continue practicing with him. Technically, there was no need to, their coach had even insisted that they rest for the next tournament, and most of the older players had taken this to heart. Tobio understands, most of them probably won’t play in an Olympics again, but surely the only thing that could be worse than not being able to play volleyball in a stadium was not playing volleyball _at all?_

He had managed to convince Ushijima-san to play, and Bokuto-san, but one was too silent and the other too loud and there were only so many hours Tobio could put up with either before even he needed something else to do.

Then it had hit him, like a particularly delayed lightning bolt, that he was in the same country as _Hinata._

He wouldn’t play _with_ him of course, that would be cheating. He wasn’t allowed to play with Hinata until Hinata was done dominating beach volleyball.

(These hadn’t been Hinata’s exact words in the Karasuno gym on their graduation day, but that had been about the gist of it.)

He couldn’t play _with_ him, but he could go and _see him._

In secret, that is.

He’d tried texting Hinata – only to get a response that simply said _“I’m not ready.”_ This had fuelled many confused, silent looks between himself and Ushijima-san as they alternated staring at Tobio’s phone screen trying to work it out before Bokuto-san had stepped in to mediate. He’d snagged Hinata’s number, whipped out his own phone, and fired off such an alarming number of messages that Tobio was a little worried they’d be on the plane home before Hinata would have time to read them all.

“He says he can’t face you until he’s levelled up,” Bokuto-san had translated later, halfway through dinner.

“Oh,” Tobio had mumbled around a banana. “Fair enough.”

So if Hinata wanted to be dramatic, that was fine. Tobio had been privately hoping to openly ogle at his beach volleyball exploits, either to marvel at his progress or crow with glee as he ate sand, but he can be sneaky.

Yachi-san had taught him after all, it would be a shame never to use that skillset ever again.

So Tobio does as he’s been taught – _he blends in_. He buys the brightest, most lurid shirt he can find (neon green with sparkly pink palm fronds), an enormous pair of sunglasses and a nice pair of flip flops, borrows a large floppy hat from Ushijima-san and strolls onto the beach like he owns the place.

Or is at least a tourist who definitely belongs there and not an Olympic athlete here to spy on his kind of high school sweetheart who may or may not even be playing today.

(He’d had Bokuto-san subtly ask Hinata about his beach volleyball schedule and beach volleyball location. Tobio is not sure Bokuto-san’s method of simply just asking these questions outright was really _sneaky_ but he had gotten answers so at least he’d gotten the job done.)

Thankfully, Tobio is in luck. Because Hinata hadn’t lied.

There’s a beach volleyball game currently in progress, a small crowd of people gathered in a little semi-circle off to the side. Tobio spies a flash of red hair, grins a little loopily, flings some money at a passing vendor for one of his fruity drink things with a cute little umbrella in it as a handy prop, and slips into the crowd.

Unfortunately, it seems being six-foot-two is not as much of an advantage in Brazil as it is Japan, and Tobio huffs when he can’t easily see above the crowd’s heads. It takes some jostling and some elbow usage that Tobio isn’t exactly proud of, but eventually he makes his way to a spot where he can see clearly.

And… _oh._

This was a mistake.

Somehow, Tobio had completely forgotten the existence of time, and he had sort of- just kinda figured- _thought_ that Hinata would somehow look exactly the same as when he had left him in a gym. With overlong hair and school trousers that were still a little too baggy around the knee.

But nearly two years have passed and Hinata has spent almost all of it training and oh, it _shows._

Not just in his play, though that too, is markedly different – Tobio watches with his jaw unhinged as Hinata neatly steps in for the receive as if he had simply teleported into the correct position. The ball goes up, the crowd cheers, the ball is set and then Hinata is jumping and Tobio nearly drops his fruity drunk with the cute little umbrella.

The jump is not quite as high – the power behind the leap snagged by the uneven sand – but Hinata launches all the same, his white shorts suddenly _clinging_ like they never had before. And it’s not like Hinata had always had twigs for legs, but they were never _that_ thick, Tobio is absolutely certain.

But then before he can fully compose himself, Hinata lands after the successful spike, stumbles a little in the sand, and his hat falls off.

So does Tobio’s.

Tobio roots around for it frantically with one hand, still gazing rapturously at the new _gift_ he’s just been bestowed.

Hinata has cut his hair. And it’s not like Tobio had hated the long hair, okay, he just had strong feelings about seeing it a little trimmer – how the waves and cowlicks would sit with a little less heaviness to them. And maybe it’s the sun, but Hinata’s hair seems even brighter now – a splash of sunshine across his scalp, dishevelled and brilliant and _so_ orange. Tobio’s missed it so much.

(Hinata bends and collects his cap, his hair popping through the hole at the back in a little tuft and Tobio nearly sheds a tear.)

It appears the set has ended – though there’s no scoreboard so who knows who’s keeping track – and Hinata turns to his beach volleyball partner, removing his sunglasses with one smooth movement and- oh dear.

Tobio might need to go and lay down on that smooth rock a few feet away to try and calm down.

Because Hinata is smiling – bright and wide and infuriatingly perfect – and Tobio had kind of forgotten what it was like to be burnt by sunbeams.

Hinata Shouyou stands there, on the beach, with a cap that his new, shorter hair pokes out the sides of in tufts, with fitted shorts and a beautiful smile and-

Arms.

Nice arms.

 _Very_ nice arms.

Now in volleyball you see a variety of nice arms – it was a very arm benefitting sport. But Hinata has always been sort of swamped in t-shirts and black jerseys and hoodies. But now, _now_ , they were- _bigger._ He’s definitely broader, the muscle definition just all round more noticeable, but it peaks when Hinata moves his forearms up (also nicely toned) and his biceps bunch. Actually _bunch_. And to top it all off he’s covered from hairline to toe in a golden, sun kissed tan.

Tobio whips his hat off to fan his suddenly very red face. It seems where Hinata gains a tan he just burns - his face has apparently garnered a sunburn within about twenty minutes.

On the beach, Hinata stretches an arm across his chest as he chats to his partner and Tobio nearly eats his hat. Because he doesn’t really remember if Hinata always had… _freckles_ before – but he certainly does now. Maybe it was from the sun – but there’s a whole constellation of them now, a stardust array across his shoulders and down his arms and splattered across his cheeks. More visible now when he moves and the sun hits him properly.

Tobio’s hand crunches around the paper cup holding his cocktail and the stick of the cute little umbrella digs into his palm.

One of the children shoots him a dirty look as spilt cocktail dribbles onto his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Tobio grunts, not really _that_ sorry, and he buries his face briefly in his hat to scream his frustration into it.

This wasn’t _fair!_ He’d come here to see Hinata fall around on the sand like an idiot or maybe show some promising improvement (he’s still conflicted as to which he wanted more) not- not _this!_ Not standing there looking healthy and strong and gorgeous with a beach volleyball tan while Tobio stood nearby indoor volleyball pasty with a cocktail dripping from his palm.

The chattering around him increases, and then suddenly the crowd starts to disperse. A quick, panicked glance at the players by the net confirms that the game is apparently all wrapped up, judging by how both sides are now just shaking hands and chatting.

In a rush, Tobio rams his hat back onto his head, lifting his chin and holding his back straight, trying to waltz from the beach like a casual tourist and not someone who is losing their mind. He manages to make it all the way back to where the street starts before temptation snaps and he glances back over to where Hinata is still mingling on the beach.

It’s a mistake.

The redhead is sipping from a water bottle and, really, that should not be allowed. Not in _public._

Head tipped back, one hand on hip with the other wrapped around the bottle, eyes shut against the sun. Skin gleaming, throat bobbing, and one singular drop of sweat slipping from a dampened hairline, past a sharp jaw and then lower, towards the-

Then all of Tobio’s vision goes topsy turvy as his flip flop gets stuck on some debris on the street and he goes flying, back over the curb stones and onto the sand.

For a solid ten seconds, Tobio lies there, his legs sprawled across the concrete and his torso flopped into sand, his face buried in a mound of the stuff, and contemplates his poor life choices.

Then there’s a babble of Portuguese around him and he lifts his head sharply, sunglasses askew, as it occurs to him that maybe that would’ve been a little _too_ eye-catching. He’s supposed to be incognito. And, indeed, there’s Hinata, staring over in his general direction. There’s a few people hovering by him, so Tobio spits out the sand in his mouth, grabs his hat – which had fallen off – and staggers to his feet.

“I’m fine!” He announces in his best English, because he is tourist and not a Japanese Olympic volleyball player in disguise, and then does his best to scarper.

He doesn’t look over his shoulder again as he leaves, for his own safety, but he swears he feels brown eyes follow his every movement.

(He buys an ice-cream on the way back, just to cool himself down.)

“Hey, hey, hey! How’d it go?” Bokuto-san cheers later when Tobio stumbles back into the Olympic village, still a little dazed with ice-cream down his shirt.

“Shoulders,” Tobio blurts out, then feels even more heat rush to his already sunburnt face.

Bokuto-san looks him with a head tilt, the one that made him resemble an owl a little too closely, before he pats Tobio’s back roughly. “There, there, buddy,” he says, in his best comforting voice.

Tobio, not comforted at all, slopes back to the room he shares with Ushijima-san, who is reading the adverts in some Portuguese magazine. Tobio has no idea if he understands them. Tobio has no will to find out. “Do you have any after sun?” He asks to Ushijima-san’s welcoming grunt.

His teammate flits his gaze up to him, expression unchanging. “You’re not sunburnt,” he says, very seriously, and then goes back to his perusal of Portuguese air fresheners.

Tobio blinks, stumbles to his bed and topples onto it, groaning into his pillow.

* * *

When Tobio eventually returns back to Japan, it is with a new resolution.

He’d come up with it on the plane ride over while he meticulously went through and disabled several options in all of his social media apps (in airplane safety mode, of course.) He was required to have accounts even if he doesn’t really use them that often. Something about a blue tick, Tobio doesn’t know he wasn’t paying attention when this was explained to him.

But they were handy for keeping up with friends. It’s sort of nice to see little square pictures and short lines of text that showcase what people are up to without having to message them. It’s been sort of nicer being able to keep up with Hinata in this way – ensuring he was keeping his promise. Working hard, staying focused. Most of his posts these days were about beach volleyball, with some more touristy shots of Brazil sprinkled in. 

Except Hinata had been _sneaky._

Instead of posting selfies that involved all of him, it had only been his face. Most of his little square pictures weren’t even of _him_ , just random crap he thought he was interesting. The only photo Tobio can think of that went below his chin was that photo with Oi-

Best not to think about it. Tobio won’t be able to sleep for another week.

Anyway.

In every single photo apart from that, there were no- no _them._

_The shoulders._

And, quite frankly, Tobio cannot look at them again all the time he is supposed to be training and improving and getting better. Because they make his brain go fuzzy and burn his skin and Tobio would like to avoid fainting, if he can. So he goes through, and changes his phone’s settings, ensuring that there will be no sneak attacks, no sudden selfies, no surprise drop of the forbidden biceps that will take him out from training for several hours.

It’s Hinata after all, he can’t be trusted to keep to his current pattern forever.

The system works well for longer than Tobio expects.

He spends several long, blissful months not having to experience Hinata Shouyou’s sinful body at all. He still gets updates of course – from the school group chat and from Hinata himself (through social media only, Hinata seems to avoid texting him at all costs for some peculiar reason.) He knows Hinata is working hard. He occasionally sees a photo of the beach and some dog he found on the streets and got to pet.

The no face part of the whole arrangement is a bit of a blow but there’s no shoulders at least so Tobio will take this on the chin.

It’s all going swimmingly until the Black Jackals hold their try-outs.

Tobio’s not stupid. He knows when Hinata is back in Japan, knows he will immediately go for the try-outs for the best team available. He knows all of this without even speaking to Hinata, and he spends the days the try-outs are being held setting just a hair off because he’s far too excited for the inevitable recruitment announcement.

In the end, he doesn’t even get to find out from any sort of official source.

There’s a high pitched, excitable squawk from the corner of the Alders’ changing room during practice one day, which is quickly followed by the sound of several things toppling to the floor.

It’s Hoshiumi-san, who has clambered on top of a bench – kicking several items of clothing, three water bottles and one team member to the floor on the way – and holding his phone aloft like it’s some sort of holy object.

 _“Hinata Shouyou!”_ He hollers to the universe at large, _“Finally I can challenge you again!”_

Tobio perks up immediately, leaving half of his clothes in his bag and stumbling over the fallen Sokolov-san (still on the floor.) “He got in?”

Hoshiumi-san makes some sort of wordless, excitable noise and thrusts his phone in front of Tobio’s nose.

Which turns out to be yet another mistake.

It’s MSBY’s official page, announcing their newest team member and featuring Hinata in a lovely bust shot, beaming at the camera.

Tobio opens his mouth. Feels it dry up. Snaps it shut again.

“Excuse me,” he croaks out, when air returns to his lungs. He makes a manic grab for his bag and then bolts from the changing room, still only half dressed with only one sock on. He’s followed by multiple pairs of eyes (apart from Ushijima-san, who doesn’t seem to care) but he ignores them and sprints down the short hallway to the toilets.

All but throwing himself into a cubicle, Tobio kicks the door closed, leans against it and dumps his bag on the toilet (lid down) so he can rummage around in it. Phone excavated, he switches it on, finds the MSBY home page in record time, and then has a hard time keeping his knees from shaking.

They’ve had the gall to dress Hinata in his new jersey – though the photo is framed so his new number isn’t visible just yet – a sinful, black thing that wraps around his upper body. Tobio’s eyes flit, a little manically, from that bright, bright hair – still wonderfully short – to that wide, beaming smile. And then down, to how his jaw is sharp and his neck thick and then he sees _them._ Takes them in. _Ogles_ at them.

The shoulders. Wide and strong and hovering up in the frame because knowing Hinata he’s probably doing something embarrassing like posing with his hands on his hips and that’s just- fucking incredible, honestly.

With not even an ounce of shame, Tobio lifts two shaking fingers and uses them to zoom in, the pixels of the low-res photo starting to show as the image blows wide.

And well, this is why MSBY normally win the ‘best uniform poll’.

Hinata’s shoulders are wrapped in black, accentuating the lines and curves… and are also dusted in gold dust. Little sprinkles of shimmer, all along the breadth of them. Tobio finds himself staring until his eyes start to dry out.

It’s an indeterminable amount of time before he stumbles out from the cubicle again.

* * *

The first match of the V-League season is an… _experience._

Tobio is, first and foremost, a professional, so of course he plays his best game – never falters or lets his mind wander. But oh, do his eyes _see._

Hinata’s photo on the MSBY website is _nothing_ compared to the real thing, live and in person.

Tobio had actually been rather disappointed, the first time he bumped into Hinata in the hallway. Not disappointed to _see_ him, of course, his whole body felt like it could vibrate through the floor with how excited he was to actually _see_ him. He was disappointed, rather, with Hinata’s choice of clothes.

He was wearing a hoodie again. Which is par the course for Hinata who seems to practically live in hoodies when he wasn’t exercising. And it was cute, the big soft jumpers, when he was young and smaller. But now he hides _magnificence_ under folds of clothing and quite frankly, it’s a crying shame.

So when Tobio steps onto the court, ready and waiting, and spies Hinata jogging in on the opposite side, his heart nearly stops.

It’s a good thing, really, that adrenaline and excitement came along and kept it going, all the way up to the handshake by the net. Hinata smiles at him, all fire and ferocity, on the other side of the net, and clasps his hand. And Tobio is momentarily so mesmerised by those shoulders up close and personal and the thrill of the upcoming game in his gut he almost misses it.

The finger. Placed on his wrist.

Hinata gives nothing away in his expression. It’s just as determined and full of competitive spark as it was the first time Tobio laid eyes on him by the bathroom. But Tobio can feel it, the small slide across his wrist, the gentle press of a finger pad right by his pulse point.

It haunts his skin right up until the final whistle blows.

There’s so much calamity, and just general _people,_ after the game that Tobio doesn’t think much of it until people start filing out of the stadium. There are some tentative plans in place for a Karasuno reunion dinner that he’s half listening to Yachi-san explain – eager to join in but also equally happy to just be dragged to the restaurant of choice and have food placed in front of him. His old teammates start to meander towards the court, a low buzz of chatting going up as everyone reconvenes.

It gets busy enough that a hand can snag his wrist and tug him away and almost nobody notices.

“Hinata-“ Tobio manages to blurt out, too distracted by how his brain has set itself on fire at being dragged off like this to really protest any further. But Hinata says nothing, just leads them to a corridor away from everyone else and then drops his wrist without a word.

“Hina- _oof,”_ Tobio is cut off by being suddenly crowded against the wall, _hard_ , leaving him no time to think as orange fills his vision and then suddenly there’s a pair of lips on his. By the time Tobio’s brain comes online enough for him to register he is being kissed, _by Hinata_ , two hands slip down and grip him underneath his thighs.

The thought that he’s being groped for the first time just pings into his head before he suddenly gets even taller.

Oh. Well. That’s new. He’s being lifted.

Hinata grunts beneath him with the effort (distressingly sexy) and shifts his grip, sliding his arms until he’s holding Tobio under his thighs securely, the wall behind a useful brace.

“Ha!” Hinata says, triumphant.

Feeling worryingly like he might simply faint, Tobio scrabbles for something to grip onto so that his upper half didn’t feel so loose, and grabs instinctively onto Hinata’s shoulders. _The_ shoulders, he realises. Those shoulders. Tobio flexes his fingers.

They’re… well they’re quite nice, aren’t they?

They’re firm. Very firm. The muscle definition is literally palpable under Tobio’s hands – lightly flexing under his fingers as Hinata holds his weight. And they’re so _broad_ now. Not ridiculously so - Hinata was, after all, still a relatively small person, but in comparison to _before._ They’re solid and strong and capable and wrapped in gold dusted black cloth that hides the freckled skin beneath and Tobio feels his heart flip. He thinks of all they represent – Hinata’s hard work, his dedication, his love for volleyball.

All those spikes. The _sets._

“I love you,” he says reverently, to the glorious, firm muscles beneath his hands.

“I love you too!” Comes the unexpected response.

Tobio blinks.

Stares down into watery, big brown eyes, and then registers he is being lifted by his kind of high school sweetheart who had just kissed him following the best volleyball game of his life and he has just confessed.

Except he confessed to the shoulders and not the person.

“I love _you_ too,” Tobio hurries to amend, directing his words to Hinata as a whole this time. Because of course he does. He’s loved Hinata for years. He just got a bit distracted, that’s all.

Hinata just smiles wider, if that’s possible, looking brighter and more sun kissed in this dingy hallway than he ever did on the beach. “I love _you_ too!” He repeats, like it’s a game, and then stretches up for a kiss.

Tobio leans down a little to meet him and wraps his arms around the gift he’s been bestowed.

(And if Hinata never finds out that it was his shoulders that Tobio confessed to first, then that'll be a bonus.)

* * *

Tobio manages to maintain a semblance of shoulder related dignity for all of about two months.

It takes a fancy dinner for his birthday to finally expose him.

They have reservations at a nice restaurant, one Hinata picked for its privacy, variety of menu options and proximity to his flat. Tobio is privately a little disappointed Hinata himself won’t be cooking, but all of his complaints evaporate immediately when Hinata finally emerges from his bedroom having gotten changed into a deep blue shirt.

Tobio makes a low, approving noise in his throat and makes his way over to his brand new boyfriend in four long strides.

“You should wear more vests,” Tobio says seriously as he runs his palms over Hinata’s (extremely disappointingly) clothed shoulders. It’s one of Hinata’s better shirts, soft and velvety, and it feels nice under his hands. And he really does mean a waistcoat or something, but the comments works in the general sense as well. Because Tobio has seen those shoulders _bare._ He’s been _spoilt._

“Should I?” Hinata wonders, amused. One red eyebrow ticks up.

“Yes,” Tobio confirms with a solemn nod and getting carried away. “Like your beach volleyball one. The blue one.”

Oh the _blue vest._

Cut so his arms weren’t restricted. His shoulders accentuated. The white trim on golden skin. That royal blue next to bright orange hair.

Tobio shakes himself before he topples over in a faint.

“My… blue one?” Hinata says slowly, his other eyebrow creeping up across his forehead.

“Yeah? Your official one.” Tobio frowns. What’s Hinata sounding so confused about? Has he forgotten about his own clothes? Well, that _does_ sound like him…

“I don’t remember ever showing you a photo of that,” Hinata says, still slowly, but there’s a mischievous smile twisting up on his face now.

“… Oh,” Tobio says, eloquently.

The demon under his hands smiles wickedly. “How did you know my beach volleyball shirt was blue, Yamayama?”

Tobio looks down into those golden eyes for all of two seconds before he cracks. “I may have snuck out of the Olympic village to watch you play beach volleyball,” he blurts out, all in a rush.

Hinata blinks at him, obviously surprised, his mouth puckered in a shocked little ‘o’.

It occurs to Tobio then, that Hinata was probably expecting him to say he’d scored some selfies from someone on the inside. One of their friends maybe. Perhaps Bokuto-san considering the amount of texting going on during the Olympics. Oikawa-san even, if he was truly desperate. Just really anything at all other than admitting to _spying_ _on him._

“You spied on me?” Hinata asks, a little too gleefully. “Is that why Bokuto-san asked me all those questions?”

 _I should have lied,_ Tobio thinks in despair. Why did Hinata choose _now_ of all times to develop a good memory?

“Only a little bit, okay, I thought you were going to eat sand!” Tobio hisses, trying to dredge up some semblance of dignity.

Hinata’s joyful expression sours immediately, and Tobio flounders in how terribly he’s fucking this up suddenly.

“But then you looked like _this!”_ He continues, wildly, gesturing at all of Hinata, “tanned! Freckles! _Shoulders!”_

“… Shoulders,” Hinata repeats, as his eyebrows get steadily closer to his hairline.

“Shoulders,” Tobio rumbles, reaching for them and giving them a squeeze. His hand don’t even reach the full circumference of them, honestly, who allowed this. Why did Hinata become such a gym obsessive, this was not good for his health.

“I really don’t know why you like them so much,” Hinata interrupts the spiralling, frowning a little.

Tobio decides not to focus on how Hinata seems to have noticed his… _preferences._ “They’re nice,” he protests, in what is the understatement of the century.

“Yeah, I know,” Hinata says easily, a wicked little smile peeking up on his face, “but my thighs are objectively better, don’t you think?”

Tobio lets his gaze drop to those strong legs currently contained in nice fitting jeans. The legs that allowed Hinata to cross the court in a flash. The ones that gave him metaphorical wings. The ones that had been wrapped around Tobio's-

Ahem.

“They’re nice too,” Tobio manages, slightly strangled. At this rate they’re not even going to make it to the front door let alone the restaurant. “But these are better,” he decides, his voice still decidedly croaky as he gives his boyfriend's shoulders a little pat.

You never forgot your first love after all.

“Hmmm,” Hinata hums thoughtfully, looking down at himself, “if you say so.”

Tobio wants to protest, but then he catches sight of the clock on the wall and tuts. They’re going to be late if they don’t get going. Not that he _needs_ to be treated on his birthday, but he had been looking forward to the seafood menu all day. “We should-“

“Hold on,” Hinata buts in. “I need to fetch something.”

“What?” Tobio demands, even when Hinata tries to appease him with a quick kiss. “Hinata, we’re going to be-“

“Just a second!”

Tobio folds his arms and scowls as Hinata darts off. The clock ticks over ten minutes more and then his foot starts to tap irritably. Fifteen minutes, and Tobio feels his temper start to fray. _“Hinata!”_ He bellows.

“Coming, coming!” The bedroom door flings open again and Hinata comes barrelling back towards him – looking no different and not holding anything either.

“What the fuck was that all about,” Tobio demands again when Hinata is close enough.

Hinata doesn’t reply at first, just pats his pockets to check he has everything before he makes for the door. And then, after he bends to slide on his shoes in entryway, he turns to face Tobio before he can start grouching again, and undoes two shirt buttons.

Tobio’s eyebrows shoot up.

Little inappropriate for a fancy restaurant maybe-

Hinata derails this train of thought by pulling his shirt to the side, just enough for Tobio to get a peek at what lies underneath it.

It’s royal blue and sort of loose. With white piping on the edges and just the tips of a number two visible on the breast. It’s the shirt. _The shirt._ The beach volleyball shirt with the arm holes.

Tobio finds himself by Hinata’s side in approximately two seconds, vision zeroed in on the sacred fabric.

“I thought you should see it again without having to spy on me,” Hinata chirps, letting his hand drop to his buttons, doing them up again one handed, his fingers sliding over the small plastic discs.

“Thank-you,” Tobio croaks, earnestly.

Hinata laughs, bright and mischievous, and he leans up on his toes to press a kiss to the underside of Tobio’s jaw. “Maybe I’ll keep it on _later,”_ he murmurs into Tobio’s ear, his voice going from playful to sinful in a millisecond.

Tobio fights off a heart attack as his boyfriend waggles suggestive red eyebrows at him. “Happy birthday to me,” he groans, knowing he’s never going get through dinner in one piece.

Hinata cackles and uses his nice, strong shoulders to shove Tobio out of the door.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to cupcake for naming this story and also coming up with tobio confessing to the shoulders before hinata <333
> 
> come yell at me about haikyuu on twitter! @Emlee_J


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